‘You set us up with these people. You introduced them. You have to help him. This is your fault as much as it is his.’

‘Sure,’ she said, and got up to go. She threw her phone and wallet back in her bag like a merchant shutting up shop, bored by the buyer’s haggling. This was Lisa’s great strength – she had the veto of walking away. Her separate lives, her many friends, her own fortune; if you fell out with her, she could just cut her losses. She could become one of her other selves, and I was painfully aware that these friends were all I had.

‘Please, please, that was unfair, I’m strung out.’

‘You know what?’ she said. ‘I think part of you is enjoying this. Part of you wants to play the hero, because then he’ll owe you, and then . . . what? What will he do to pay the debt to you?’

I did not answer this, and lowered my head.

‘James, you can’t win,’ she said, and her voice had dropped its air of implacable realism. She almost sounded kind. ‘Take your cash. Go have fun. Leave Francis to sort out his own mess. Take care.’ She put her hand on my shoulder, then patted it twice in quick succession. I grabbed her hand through her coat as she turned away, and pulled her close to me. For perhaps the first time since I had met her, surprise filled her dark eyes. A group of students drinking at a neighbouring table looked over to us in mild curiosity, sensing the ripple in the sterile peace of the bar.

I spoke quickly, in a low voice. The words were ugly, and I wanted them out of my mouth and away from me as quickly as possible. ‘Francis has three choices: pay up, die or go to the police. If he can’t choose the first one, what do you think he’ll do?’

Lisa shook her hand free. She did not look at me, but walked unhurriedly across the pub. She paused in the doorway as she felt the wind, and lit a cigarette before stepping out into the cobbled street.

I sat there and thought about Francis. I considered the possibility of taking out a loan and putting it on a dog. I sized up Lord Soulford, dropping a stone into the well of his hatred for his son and listening for the ‘plink’ that would mark the bottom. I even thought about trying to find these people myself, to go and speak to them on Francis’s behalf. I thought of getting him out of the country, or into a secure place. Even through my fear and sadness, I was aware of the gift that he was giving me. As ever, he made me feel important, he elevated my concerns to the plane of life and death. I went back to my room and lay on my back looking at the ceiling, smoking. I wondered how I was going to break it to him that Lisa had abandoned us, that he might be about to die after all. I pictured his acquiescence, his gentle nod and rueful smile.